Light and Dark
by stormer17
Summary: A love story between Angel and Wolfsbane Rahne Sinclair a newcomer to the Academy. First fanfic ever so please be gentle.
1. Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

It was raining, but then, it always rained in Scotland. Rahne Sinclair let her namesake run down her face and into her cupped, white hands. Her light, blue dress was soaked through and dirty from her perch in the ancient oak tree and her long red curls plastered itself to her white shoulders. She had begun to shiver uncontrollably but still she stayed, letting the rain fall hard upon her head.

The lights from the house reflected on the wet patio below her, marble polished by a hundred years of human use made it almost like a river beneath her, peaceful and undisturbed. It almost seemed a shame to climb out of the tree and ruin the daydream when Moira came to call her in to dinner in her gentle voice, lilted with the accents of her people.

Rahne let herself drop to the ground, landing on all fours before righting herself. The wolf within had its uses. With a burst of feral impulse, she ran the 100 yards to the huge mansion that she lived in with her foster mother. Her heart swelled at the sheer freedom of this simple act. She wished to keep running, keep running into the sunset, into the horizon until the light obliterated her from view.

She stopped a few feet from the open door and turned, panting heavily, to the horizon. Her breath billowed out before her in clouds as she gazed off into the grey sky. _No sunset today,_ she thought sadly before wringing the excess moisture from her hair and entering the house.

The patio door led into the living room, the centre of all life in the McCafferty household. Everything had a comforting, lived-in feel to it. She could quite easily pick out the distinctive scents of the four others who lived in the house. Moira was sweet, always delicately fragranced with a certain type of perfume. James was earthy, like the scent of the earth after a thunderstorm. And the children, Lily and Jamie, she could've picked out their scent anywhere.

And yet, there was a new scent, the scent of strangers. These new scents instantly put her on edge, the hair along her spine standing up a little. She knew she was being too defensive, but she didn't trust what she didn't know.

Trying to ignore the hot, itchy feeling along the upper gums of her mouth, Rahne walked the length of the room with a cautious anxiety.

_There had been a man...he smelt of metal and grief, a man driven by love alone._

Her irises turned pale yellow and her pupils narrowed to slits as she scanned the old velvet-lined sofa across the coffee table from her. A single, coarse hair confirmed that someone had been there not so long ago.

_But there was another...a younger man. His scent was different, difficult to read, but there had definitely been another here._

Moira's footsteps along the hall startled her, hurting her sensitive ears. Her eyes snapped back to their stormy green and she whirled around to face her foster mother with a hostility that even shocked her.

"Why didn't you tell me about the others?" she fought to keep the snarl from her voice, her upper jaw began to tingle again.

Moira ignored the question completely and looked Rahne up and down, completely at a lost for what to say about her appearance.

"Sweetheart, you're absolutely soaked! Didn't we talk about staying out in that tree? Now look at you! You'll catch your death of cold."

Something about her manner was off, Moira prided herself on honesty with her children above all else. Now she stood fidgeting, muttering about a towel and the state of Rahne's hair.

"Moira! Tell me what's going on!"

Rahne began to feel the claustrophobic grip of a panic that rose in her gullet like acid. She put the coffee table between them, her back to the open door; she knew she could out-run whatever was waiting for her. Her heart pounded in her ears, the wolf within snarling and snapping inside her head. _Run, _it screamed. She took a step backwards, her eyes flashing yellow as they bore into Moira's own. She would not be caged again. She was a creature of the earth; to be locked up in a little box would be insanity...a thousand jeering faces leering in at her in united, morbid curiosity.

_Make it change! Make it turn into the monster!_

The woman's high, clear voice burning in her ears as she sought sanctuary from the Ringleader, the jangle of the cat o' nine tails as it thudded against the leathery palm of his hands. Scrabbling at the greased bars of the cage...they had learned their lesson from last time. Blow after blow slicing into her back, as she fell to the ground howling in inhuman pain. The blows still coming even though she had collapsed into blackness.

The crowd went wild at that, their new fashion, until a new sound was heard.

A single child's voice screaming the same words over and over in a tearful shriek.

_Make it stop! Please, Father! Make him stop hurting that girl!_

A tiny voice that made no difference in a sea of hate. Her eyes sought him out, a boy slightly older than her. Standing, gripping the bars of her cage, he was transfixed by human cruelty. Their eyes met and something passed between them. A silent promise. She called him an angel. He said he would save her.

He had never come. Social Services had.

She looked at Moira steadily. Moira looked tearful and uneasy, eyeing the patio door dolefully. Her eyes pleaded with her to stay, trying to reassure but Rahne's eyes scared her as the wolf tried to fight to the surface.

"Logan is here." She said quietly, avoiding Rahne's burning gaze. She was shaking her head before Moira had finished speaking.

She laughed bitterly, taking another step backwards. The cool air seeped in and under her dress, calming the burning as she fought for control.

"How many times must we have this conversation?" Her accent became coarser when she was angry; Moira took a corresponding step backwards. "I won't...no...I _refuse_ to go to that place."

Moira's face became sad and tired; Rahne noticed the few white hairs that had begun to show in Moira's shiny brown hair.

"I'm afraid you have no choice, Rahne."

Too late she started to feel light-headed. The tranquiliser dart had hit her squarely in the back. As everything descended into darkness she stepped back out onto the patio her head lifted to the sky, an angel was suspended above her. Collapsing onto her knees, she saw the tranquiliser gun in his hands...

_Traitor._


	2. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Chapter Two

_Warren seemed to sleepwalk through a sea of shadows, seeing nothing but the echoes of peoples' eyes burning in the gloom. _

_Rain fell in light drifts on his face, cool and familiar in the darkness that seemed to engulf him and pass through his very core, moving through his body as if he wasn't even there. He knew this place well. He was not afraid. It was a rhythm, an essential __beat in his life that always seemed to play back to the same song, the same tune._

_He didn't see her at first; it was more a sort of feeling, the sensation of body heat from a person standing beside him only seconds ago – a flash of red and green in the dark. Brighter and more alive than the people of the shadows. They coveted it greedily, watching the dancing flame of life in their midst with wary envy. _

_He turned his head as it disappeared behind another shadow. She was here with him. She always found a way to him in his dreams. _

_She reappeared a few seconds later, racing towards a light in the distance, a fingernail of light appearing over the horizon. Her shock of red hair flew out madly behind her, ecstatically real in the wind that roared in his ears. He opened his mouth but she had claimed his voice. _

_A sudden urge took over his limbs; his will chose to follow her into the light. _

_Everything moved in slow motion. He could see every strand of her hair moving against the air. Sometimes he lost sight of her but it was not long before she burst furiously back into view through the smoke._

_She turned back, from time to time, to see him, her head bobbing in rhythm with her legs that carried her far and fast into the distance._

_He wanted to see her face but only ever caught a flash of green through red._

_Desperation forced him on through the river of shadows that barred the way. They all seemed to fall upon him greedily, seeking the life that pulsed through him. Then he seemed to break through and she was within his grasp. Her scent lingered in the air around him. He reached out for her but only drew back air. The glow from the horizon set her hair aflame. _

_**Wait**__, he wanted to shout, __**stop.**_

_**You said you'd save me.**_

_**I'm trying.**_

_**By caging something that won't be caged?**_

_**Listen…**_

_**Don't let them hurt that girl!**_

Logan's rough hand on his shoulder brought Warren back to reality with a startling jump.

Rubbing his eyes gently, he unfurled a snow-white wing from around his body and the warm cocoon he had created for himself. He looked down at his watch blearily. It was nearly 6.30am.

Unbidden, the dream lingered maddeningly in the darker recesses of his brain. He could not quite let it go, the memory of it gnawing just at the unreachable part of his mind.

Looking around the flawless chrome and white cockpit, Warren began to remember where he was. Logan watched him silently but thoughtfully, his face betraying very little. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the automatic flight-monitoring system in the cockpit in mistrust. It whirred cheerfully at him and displayed the present course and coordinates.

It was still dark outside but the first glow of dawn had begun to creep unobtrusively over the broken outline of the black mountains that marked the path home. The full moon started to fade away into the heavens again.

Despite Moira's protestations, they had left Scotland that night, only stopping to pump their passenger full of sedative before leaving as quickly as they had arrived.

"We're making good time," Logan said quietly, sitting on the bunk facing Warren's and kneading the muscles in his neck with a grimace. "We should be there by 10am, give or take."

Warren did not answer; he rarely did, but went and stood by the windscreen, looking out at the grey-blue beginnings of the day. Without really noticing what his hands were doing, he poured himself a cup of hot black coffee and carefully stretched one huge white wing, feeling a kind of satisfied twinge along his shoulder blade before letting it settle back into place.

He was getting used to his wings, to letting others see them. Something as simple as sitting outside in the sun without worrying about wearing the huge trench coat his father had persuaded him to adopt before he came to the Academy, small freedoms he was claiming for himself every day – even his father had noticed a pronounced difference in his son, a kind of inward light that shone like a beacon. Warren was happier that he had been in years; he was no longer alone in the dark. He was no longer frightened of what lurked outside in a world he was not a part of.

He sipped his coffee, ignoring its bitterness. Some song was stuck in his head.

"Sleeping Beauty's still out cold," said Logan, settling back onto the bunk and turning his back. "It's your watch."

Warren nodded although Logan could not see him and continued sipping his coffee.

They weren't really what most people would have thought of as team-mates, Ororo had been reluctant to put them together on an assignment but, somehow, the quiet Angel and the volatile Wolverine were a better partnership than most. And although he'd never admit it to anyone, Logan kind of liked Warren's thoughtful, methodical manner.

A faint grunt confirmed that Logan was fast asleep. With a sigh, Warren dumped the remaining dregs of his cup down the recycle unit and moved through though the hatchway towards the holding cell serving as an isolation unit for Rahne Sinclair at the rear of the ship.

The sheer clinical whiteness of the place hurt his eyes as the doors slid open with a faint hiss of escaping air. He never felt comfortable in these surroundings; too many bad memories plagued him – he was finding it hard to forget how close he came to losing his wings. He glanced down at the silver Rolex on his wrist – his father's latest attempt at making up for the past.

Warren had stopped trying to reassure the old man that all was forgiven and, not without frustration, let the old man live with his conscience.

He was fond of his old man, despite everything, when he saw the pain in his father's eyes he couldn't quite bring himself to hold a grudge.

He rested a forearm against the glass and fell to watching Rahne Sinclair's sleeping form.

He had not expected this tall, graceful thing when Logan had briefed him on the assignment. He had expected something feral, something barely human – not the girl with flame-red hair and stormy green eyes.

Red hair and green eyes…A memory floated on the very edge of his consciousness.

She had called him an angel…and he said that he would rescue her.

He fought to keep a hold on the memory, to make it stay but it had already begun to filter away to the back of his mind, brooding away in the darkness – beyond thought and beyond voice.

Giving up, he settled back to watching her sleep.


	3. Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

The world had gone white...brilliant, dazzling white. And it smelt of metal, filled with a persistent thrumming that jarred her head painfully. She opened her eyes a little wider, the lids felt sticky. She groaned inwardly.

She found that her body was no longer under her control. Her legs refused to cooperate as she furiously willed them to move until the strain set an agony of blood thumping behind her eyes and caused the universe to pitch dangerously to the right.

She closed her eyes, taking deep, shuddery breaths before gathering the strength to open her eyes again. She concentrated on how she felt. Physically at least. Her head swam and she was forced to take several more shaky breaths

_You've been drugged, _a matter-of-fact voice said in her head.

She growled quietly in reply, she felt drowsy...far from alert and this unnerved her slightly. It was as if a blanket had been thrown over her rapier-sharp senses. She was as good as deaf and blind. She decided to concentrate on remembering what had happened. This was a sensation with which she was well-acquainted - the sensation of waking up without so much as an inkling of where she was and, more often than not, who she was. The uncomfortable feeling of sensory deprivation began to fade slightly.

Moira liked to call them Rahne's 'episodes'. They were the reason that Rahne had a tracking chip in her right foot and Moira's cellphone number tattooed on the inside of her left arm. Rahne felt a hot flash of anger as her foster mother drifted into her throughts. With a little self control, she pushed Moira's tired face from her thoughts, trying to ignore the slight quickening of her pulse - the tingling that began in the lower spine and reverberated right through to her teeth. She took a deep breath and willed herself to lie still, steeled against the shudders that threatened her self-control.

_Where am I?_

_Where am I?_

The thoughts drifting through her subconscious began to fall into order around her.

_The rain...the angel...the tranquiliser dart..._

As if in response to her realisation, her stomach gave a frightening lurch up into her throat and bright stars floated into her field of vision. With a yelp she flung herself onto her side. She miraculously regained supremacy over her limbs but it didn't matter right then. She pulled herself over the edge of the bunk and vomited everything she'd ever eaten into the strategically placed receptacle beside her.

A hiss of air signalled the entry of someone through the holding cell's air-locked door. In the throes of nausea, Rahne could not establish who but was suddenly aware of cool hands pulling her hair back from her clammy face.

Definitely not the Wolverine.

'You're alright,' a soft, disembodied voice said into her ear. With a strained sob, Rahne retched dryly into the receptacle. Her head swam dizzily and she was hot - too hot - as if every atom of her being was on fire. She laughed humourlessly.

'Easy...f-for you...to say,' she managed, gasping for purchase in the air that felt like a viscous liquid in her lungs, drowning her. She heard a faint intake of breath, almost a laugh. She caught it by chance. Immediately, the spasms began to cease though she did not trust her stomach enough to move from where she was just yet. She was aware of the cool hands on the nape of her neck, soothing her burning skin. It felt wonderful. Her senses were beginning to clear now, the poison of the sedative now purged from her body. She heard a clear heartbeat above the gradually calming thrum of her own. It was calm, slow...barely a heartbeat at all. Oh...to have a heartbeat like that. Her own was almost constantly beating a mile a minute. She found that she wanted to put her hand to where the heartbeat was coming from, to feel its measured beat against the hot skin of her palm.

Instead she brought her burning hands to her face and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. Already her skin was beginning to cool as her breathing became less laboured and the nausea began to subside. The vivid spots of colour crossing her vision faded. She was weak, hardly able to move her head to lay it on the mattress. A convulsive shiver wracked her body and she exhaled violently.

Her throat was raw from bile and her teeth ached.

'Tissues and water, please,' she croaked, wincing at the sound of her voice, another shiver was building up it her legs.

'Of course,' the voice again. Its hands released her hair, heavy and dark with perspiration. She did not move as weight shifted away from her side and padded across the room. She was suddenly very tired.

Two cool hands slipped under her arms and lifted her easily into a sitting position, her back to the wall next to the bunk. The light from the ceiling stung her eyes, accustomed as she had become to unconsciousness, but her vision was finally clearing. The clouds had drifted to the edges of her line of vision and the darkness was beginning to disperse. A glass was pushed gently into her hands and she sighed as the coolness began to spread throughout her body. Something dabbed at her face gently as a cool hand held her firmly upright. She felt hard muscle beneath soft skin.

She wanted to protest, feeling a kind of angry embarrassment at being treated like a child but found she could not lift or move her body bar the arm operating the water glass. So she endured, meek and mild, resisting the tug of the wolf within.

The face was slow to come into focus, as if blurred by a white mask. She gave up on it and concentrated on his scent. Clean cotton, warm skin, perspiration...some kind of unnameable shower gel. It told her nothing. He was a he and he was generally a hygienic person. She sighed and closed her eyes.

'You had a very severe reaction to the sedative we used,' the voice said quietly, almost apologetically. 'It won't happen again.'

She smiled in spite of herself.

_Damn right it won't,_ she thought bitterly.

'How much longer,' she heard herself say, her throat still raw.

'We are still three hours away from the Academy,' was the reply.

'Where's the Wolverine?'

'Sleeping, he watched over you until dawn.'

The dabbing at her face stopped and her companion moved away. His scent washed over her and she breathed it in, the same things again. She shivered involuntarily. His face abruptly broke through the haze. She felt acutely her pupils contracting,as if a lens had been slid across the world making her vision razor-sharp.

He was looking at her, head slightly cocked and his lips set in a half-smile. His face was pale, set under shaggy blonde hair that fell over his forehead. His eyes were guarded but sparkled with quick intelligence - oh, they could be fire or ice. His nose had been broken once, her keen eyes saw the tiny scar where it had been fixed and set. There were pale purple bruises under his eyes, either the break was recent or he didn't sleep well.

She smiled...a fellow insomniac.

He was still looking at her. She felt blood rush to her face and she lifted her hands to cover her cheeks. His half-smile turned to a puzzled frown.

'Please don't hide,' he said, a catch in his voice.

_Why? _She thought. She lowered her hands slowly, watching him closely. The muscles in his jaw relaxed when at last her hands lay twisted together in her lap.

'I've read the case file...' he began conversationally as he turned to the sink to rinse the cloth.

That's when she noticed his wings. He must have sensed a change, stopping short, his white forehead creased into a frown. Blood crept into his cheeks and his eyes hardened. She flinched slightly. His chin tilted defiantly.

She suddenly remembered to breathe with a violent gasp and immediately regretted it. It was misunderstood as horror, repulsion even. She automatically clamped a clammy hand to her mouth as if she could pull the sound back into her throat and pretend it had never happened. His fists clenched by his sides with an audible crack.

Rahne dropped her gaze to the floor, mentally punching herself in the face.

'Not all mutants can hide away,' his voice was taught, hissed through clenched teeth. That had hurt, a tiny barb of ice dug into her heart.

_Moonlight on the barrel of a madman's shotgun._

_...You will be punished for your sins...God has forsaken you..._

Her eyes were wet, unfocused as she almost let herself be pulled away by the torrent of memories that raced behind her eyes.

So much pain just below the surface...a surface as hard and fragile as ice. She pushed herself away from the bank of her mind. No time for that. No time for the past.

The whoosh and click of the airlock on the door brought her gasping with relief into the present.

'But they're beautiful,' she murmured to the empty room.


	4. Sweet Little Mystery

Warren cupped his bleeding knuckles in his other hand and winced. He hadn't meant to hit the wall quite so hard.

He thought he was proud. He had tried so hard. He thought he was starting to win the fight. How stupid he had been. He stared at the bright spots of crimson blood on the clean white plastic of the sink. With a sigh he wiped them away with the heel of his hand and wrapped his wings around his body, he felt safe in the cocoon they created.

His breath still came out in violent pants of quiet anger and he tried to concentrate on making his breathing even and smooth with little avail.

She shouldn't have gotten to him like that. She was like him, one of them…so much for all freaks together. He couldn't understand why he felt so betrayed. She didn't even know him. Who the hell was she to judge?

Rahne Sinclair with her eerie yellow eyes…eyes that had slits for pupils…eyes that moved with inhuman calculation. He remembered them with a shudder. She wasn't exactly pretty, her face was too lean…too hungry but he couldn't get it out of his mind. Her eyes dominated everything else. Too quick, he thought, too quick to be trusted.

He had read her file. Thoroughly, as he always did.

Rahne Sinclair was in her twenties at a guess, with no record of her birth or trace of her biological parents her real age was unknown. Born in Scotland most likely and adopted by Moira when she was 12 or 13. Other than that, the thin blue folder consisted of nothing but a few vague descriptions of Rahne's mutation, a picture of a sullen, red-haired child with yellow-green eyes that stared grimly out from between Moira's other two children, half-hidden by her hair.

He had read the few articles in Rahne's permanent file back at the Academy. The attacks in rural towns…towns bordering forests.

The reports of a red-haired child living wild in the forests.

The sightings of a vicious…something that stalked the towns at night.

Something with burning yellow eyes.

It had taken them almost two years to persuade Moira to let them attempt to take Rahne in again. Rahne had taken off into the northern wilderness of Scotland for six months after the last time.

He sighed and leaned over the sink, unfurling his wings. She had gotten to him this time, but as soon as they got to the academy she wasn't his problem anymore.


	5. Everybody's Talking At Me

Chapter Five

Rahne blinked in the sunlight. It was too bright here. They had given her room facing west, and the mid-afternoon sun streamed through the white blinds with alarming intensity. She stood from her seat on the floor and moved into the shadow of the corner. It had only been a day since they had touched down on the grounds of the academy and she still felt uneasy and weak from her reaction to the sedative. Neither the wolverine nor the angel had said a word as they handed her over to the white-haired woman who had been standing waiting for her in the hangar.

Rahne sneered again as she thought of the woman's words to her.

'This is for your own good, Rahne.'

Her own good, why was everyone so sure what was good for her all of a sudden?

She pushed her greasy hair out of her eyes for the thousandth time and looked out at the sky. How she wished for that sky. She hadn't even been allowed to open her window to feel the gentle breeze she saw worrying the tops of the elms that stood a little way from her window. She threw a vicious glance at the security camera in the top right hand corner of the room. The whirring as it roamed around the room would have been non-existent to a normal person but it drove Rahne to distraction with what was to her a constant din.

She had a screen behind which she could change her clothes; she eyed the jeans and white t-shirt lying on the bed with disdain. There was no camera in the bathroom but she was becoming increasingly frustrated with her lack of privacy. They might all be watching now, the white-haired woman, the wolverine and the angel, watching her cower away from the sun. Watching her like some kind of specimen in a jar, trying to figure her out.

Well, she thought, she wouldn't make it easy for them. She would just sit and stare out the window; she would give them nothing they could use against her. She bit at a torn hangnail and continued looking out of the window, trying to ignore the growing panic building up at the back of her brain. Panic was dangerous in this situation. If she changed here, in this building, she might get free. She might make it out of the grounds and to the hazy, blue mountains she saw wavering in the distance. She was certainly fast enough and she was stronger than any other, she could outlast anyone – run for days on end without sleep or food. But she knew that it was also possible that she might hurt someone, even kill someone without meaning to. She cursed and let her head fall back against the cool, smooth wood that covered the walls of her prison.

Trapped, she thought, trapped like a rat. A mutant rat.

She jumped as the door to her quarters slid open. She tried to stand but thought better of it and remained where she was, as far from the door as she could get. They had met a few times before but Professor Xavier always made her feel a lot younger than she was. He had a kind face and always asked how she was, no matter what she had done. His scent was comforting too, a sort of mixture of leather, wood and air. It had been a while since they had met face to face but she remembered his scent distinctly as she picked it up from the movement of air around the door. She hated to admit it, but she liked him. He cared about her, in the same way that Moira did, in a way she wasn't quite used to yet. It made her feel little. She didn't know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

'Good afternoon, Rahne, did you sleep well?'

Rahne nodded and, after a moment's hesitation, stood and took a seat on the bed, folding her legs under her. The Professor moved his chair slightly closer to her and regarded her with eyes that were bright with curiosity. He smiled slightly and leaned back, folding his hands on his knees. Rahne managed a small smile back and tried to relax.

'I apologise for your illness during the flight, but I hope you will understand that it was a necessary precaution on our part,' his voice was quiet and gentle, designed to soothe. It suited him, she thought abstractly. A man who ran an academy for the outcasts, the misunderstood, the mutants would have to have a calming voice such as his.

'So here we are again, Rahne,' he leaned towards her, his eyes solemn but warm. She plucked at the sleeve of her woolen jumper, trying to avoid his gaze. 'I hope you will stay this time. Moira has been very worried about you since the last time you were here.'

Rahne bit her lip at Moira's name and said nothing.

'I am aware you are not a child, Rahne. We have had that conversation many times since the first time you came here. You know, in your heart, that this is the best place for you. Not forever. But for now, being here at the academy will do you a lot of good.'

She wasn't so sure but she nodded anyway, wrapping her arms around herself. There was no escaping this time. It was really time to face the music.

'Are you quite comfortable in this apartment? I noticed you are having trouble with the light. Is there a problem?'

She blinked at him and cleared her throat.

'It's too bright,' she muttered. 'It hurts my eyes.'

He sighed softly and looked up at the security camera. She watched this movement with some curiosity. Who was watching? Was this a secret sign to the unseen eyes? Some kind of silent reproach for the room being too bright? She held her tongue and observed him furtively from under her lashes. He was watching her, deep in thought. She cocked her head to the side, a little animal trait that Moira constantly berated her for. She tried to guess what he was thinking. She knew he could see into the minds of others at will, but she didn't think he would look into hers without permission. At least she hoped that he wouldn't.

'I can only apologise. I will see about getting you moved to other quarters when our interview is over.'

'Blinds.'

'I'm sorry?'

'You don't need to move me, just get some heavy black blinds. That should do it.'

He seemed pleased that she was willing to talk. She was surprised herself; she found that she wanted to talk to him. But perhaps it was a little bit too early to ask to go outside. Maybe they'd put her on a leash, like a dog. They'd never let her outside before and she'd been long gone before she'd had a chance to find out every time. A leash - that would be the final nail in the coffin. She shivered as an image of herself tied to a post on a choke chain crossed her mind, desperately chasing the horizon but being throttled back into reality every single time. A growl began to build up in her chest; she took a deep breath and pushed it away.

'You haven't met Warren before, have you?'

She looked up at him sharply, flinching as the light sent an ache through her eyeballs and into her brain. She squinted and searched his face for any underlying reason for his mentioning of the angel. She had heard the wolverine refer to him by this name a few times when they had handed her over. She saw his face in her mind again, as clear as if he was standing right in front of her. She had wanted to apologise but he hadn't so much as looked at her since their disastrous encounter. Her stomach pitched unpleasantly as she thought of the hurt that had been naked on his face before the hard mask of anger had slipped over it.

She realized that the Professor was waiting for her to answer. She simply shook her head grimly, trying not to think of his face.

'He has only come to us recently. Quiet lad, though very hard-working. I have decided to assign him your case, if this is agreeable to you. He will spend most of his time with you, giving you the appropriate training and attending therapy sessions with you. Is this acceptable?'

Rahne opened her mouth to protest but could not force herself to speak. She didn't need a babysitter, she wanted to say, she didn't need training or therapy. She needed to be free, to take to her heels and leave the academy far, far away. She would figure out how to get away, anyway. She didn't intend on being here long enough to need Warren. There had to be some way to get out. Panic mingled with anger inside her chest and the growl began once more to build. She dug her fists into her stomach, fighting with all her strength against the tug of the wolf within.

'He won't be your babysitter, Rahne, think of him as a sort of companion until your training is finished.'

The struggle within her breast raged on until, as suddenly as it has come, the growl disappeared altogether as her will pushed the wolf back down into its prison. She found she was sweating with the sheer strength that was needed control her transformations. The Professor was watching her just as calmly as he had done before. She took a few slow deep breaths, making sure that the wolf was held in check for the moment. Without a word, she nodded her head.

'He could help you to control your transformations, Rahne,' the Professor said, quietly. 'If you are willing to submit to living in the Academy for a short time. I won't force you. But it's better if you stay.'

With that, he left, glancing back to give her a reassuring smile which almost, but not quite, made her feel a little less like a caged animal. She let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding and unclenched her teeth. Maybe, for now, she would let them believe that she was willing to be here. Until she could figure out how to get away, a caged animal she would remain.


	6. I Can't Explain

Chapter Six

Warren blinked at the Professor, unable to believe what he had just been told. He tried to control his expression as Professor Xavier smiled expectantly at him from across the mahogany desk. Surely he wasn't being serious; there must have been a mistake. The Professor gazed at him as the seconds ticked by and Warren said nothing.

'You don't seem very happy with this arrangement, Warren,' Warren started as he realized that the Professor had spoken to him. Feeling uncomfortable, Warren edged forward in his chair and cleared his throat, his wings were almost painfully squeezed against the back of the chair and its armrests. His thoughts flashed briefly to the scene in the medical unit but he pushed the memory of that anger away, so hot and intense at the time but now seeming slightly ridiculous in retrospect. In truth, he felt a bit ashamed of himself despite the flickers of fury that still lingered in his mind. He squirmed again, trying to find a position more comfortable but failed and surrendered to the irritant.

'I just don't see why you would pick me,' Warren's voice sounded hollow to his own ears. It was not completely untrue, Warren had only just qualified as a case-worker and Rahne's case was a complicated one. Usually newly-qualified case-workers were assigned to a more experienced member of the Academy before they could strike out on their own. Logan had little interest in the cases that arrived at the Academy, preferring to take the apprehend-and-transport cases at every opportunity, and as his partner Warren had not been exposed to enough case-studies to take on Rahne's.

But the Professor showed no sign of joking or mirth, Rahne's permanent Academy file was spread out on the desk, fanned out so that the Professor need only glance over them to find whatever tidbit he needed. Warren glanced over the pages now; the uniformity of the typed pages was occasionally broken by the Professor's neat, spidery handwriting in the margin. The Professor swept his hand over them, as if sweeping them into Warren's keeping. He smiled again and Warren felt his panic abate a little. He always found that the Professor, though he inspired an irrational uneasiness in Warren, could also inspire great conviction.

'Warren, I think that you should take on Rahne's case. I believe that it would be beneficial for both of you to be in each other's company for the time that Rahne is here at the Academy,' the Professor leaned forward, resting his folded hands against his mouth as if carefully considering his next sentence. Warren sighed quietly, he was unsure what was meant by all this and wasn't sure if he liked where the conversation was going.

_I want to help people_, he thought, _I truly want to help people_.

The Professor nodded as if in agreement.

'Rahne needs help, Warren, more than she realizes,' the Professor said quietly, gazing at Warren absent-mindedly. 'And, in your way, you need help too. You may seem very different people, you and Rahne, but I believe that you are far more alike than you think. I am aware you are not fully prepared to take on a case of such a...shall we say, conflicted nature but I will also be involved in Rahne's therapy. You will not be alone in this.'

Warren nodded, trying to imagine sitting and talking with her in his office, for hours at a time. He tried to imagine delving into her deepest fears and secrets, training her in the control which was included in all the programmes that the Academy provided for mutants. He realized that he was embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed to see her again. He pushed that feeling away for the moment. He wasn't being rational, he knew, and he tried to distract himself by reading over Rahne's file.

He cleared his throat again and finally composed himself enough to look up at the Professor. He saw only mildness and concern. He was suddenly filled with a kind of wretchedness as he thought back on his response. Professor Xavier would not let someone who needed help like Rahne go unaided.

'Professor,' he said, closing the file gently. 'I'll try my best to help her, as long as you feel that I can help her.'

The Professor smiled and nodded to himself, as if he knew that Warren would agree all along. He leaned forward, shaking Warren's hand warmly.

'Congratulations on your first case file.'

Warren stood and nodded gravely, grateful that his wings were no longer trapped in the demon chair. He was suddenly filled with an urge to go flying, soaring high above the Academy. With a barely-suppressed sigh, he turned and left the Professor's office.


	7. Every Breath You Take

Chapter Seven

Rahne trailed her left hand along the smooth-paneled walls as she ambled along behind the woman with white hair. Fighting back a yawn, she tentatively explored the new scents that saturated the corridor around. They traced new and unfamiliar pictures in the air, like faint echoes of those who had passed between these walls.

She loved the scent of the mutants best, though it was a secret pleasure, it was a sort of mixture of organic and metallic – the way that static electricity smelt on fresh linen. Here at the Academy, that scent was everywhere, permeating the very stone that the building was made of. It even lingered as far as the perimeter wall surrounding the grounds. This had been a discovery made on her last escape, when they had foolishly allowed her to be outside.

This was her fourth day at the Academy, she thought in an abstract way, gazing out at the fountain in the courtyard outside the window. She could see the emerald-green plant life encroaching onto the carved centerpiece with crystal clarity, see the inestimable reflections dancing across the water's surface, blue and then suddenly pink, suddenly green. She saw the wind worrying the pool into tiny eddies which quickly became still again.

With a flash of green-black and white, a magpie dove out of the sky and perched lightly by the water's edge. It cocked its beady eye at her and she could see the distorted reflection of the Academy therein. She quickly saluted him, you can never tell with magpies.

The woman with white hair glanced around at her then followed her line of sight

'I thought you were only supposed to salute black cats that cross your path,' she said casually, pausing to slide her key-card across the black reader panel next to the glass doors leading to yet another long corridor.

'You can never tell with magpies,' said Rahne, a little more gruffly than she meant to. The woman lapsed into silence once more and Rahne worried that perhaps she had offended her. She was doing a lot of that lately, she thought, it was like her mind and her mouth sometimes lost connection. She thought about the Warren guy again. She had to start thinking before speaking.

She turned her attention back to the inner walls of the corridor; only just now realizing that the wall was inset with half a dozen dark red doors spread about six feet apart along the length of the corridor. Each door bore a small silver plaque inscribed with a name. She recognized a few of the names from her previous residences at the Academy. One or two familiar scents hung in the air near the doors. From somewhere, the icy freshness of a spring breeze slipped under one of the doors and for a second Rahne was dizzy with the heady scent of pine needles and pure mountain air. She wanted to stop and savour it. It whirled around her head and made her giddy.

She was suddenly seized by the need to cry, it was so good to feel close to the mountains, even if it was for just a few seconds. Moisture rose in her eyes at the sheer joy of the scent.

_But I never cry. _

The white-haired woman had noticed that Rahne wasn't moving. She turned and moved back towards her, sudden concern in her eyes. She put her hand on Rahne's shoulder, making her jump violently. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, her head still spinning.

'Are you alright, Rahne?'

Rahne blinked and shook her head trying to remove the pleasant fog that had taken hold over her brain. She pressed her lips together, feeling a little sheepish.

'I'm alright' she said simply, tearing herself away from the tiny current of air to join the woman in front of a door. The woman gazed at her thoughtfully for a second before indicating the door at the very end of the corridor. Rahne caught another scent in the air and felt her stomach plummet down through the ground. Bare skin and soap.

'Your primary case worker is waiting for you in that office,' the woman said with a smile, mistaking Rahne's sudden reluctance for nervousness. Rahne felt her heart beat against her chest almost painfully and a thousand expletives raced through her mind.

_Bugger_.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' The woman eyed her with some amusement. 'Warren won't bite.'

Rahne's fight-or-flight impulse screamed inside her skull and she instinctively crouched slightly, quickly calculating how fast she would have to move to break through the glass windows and the best escape route. Her fingertips began to burn, clenched into fists by her sides.

She took a deep breath and, though it felt like she had been turned to stone, put one foot in front of the other. She saw the door looming ahead of her and scowled. She pushed it open slightly and slipped in without looking back. She found herself in quite a large office, filled with Warren's scent. She knew intuitively that this was _his. _This was his own space, entirely his own. Huge windows were set into the far walls, filling the room with light. It didn't hurt so much, though she did flinch a little when the clouds shifted, briefly filling the room with sunlight.

The room itself held very little. There was a simple desk made from wood that was dark red in colour. Behind the desk was an old and comfy-looking armchair with a couple of squashed-looking green pillows. The wall behind the chair was bare but for a large framed copy of the poster for Hitchcock's 'Vertigo'. Rahne had seen that movie with Moira a few years ago, part of a run of classics at the nearest cinema. It wasn't her favourite Hitchcock movie.

The walls were covered with wooden panels the same colour as the desk and the furniture was sparse, just a large, squat leather sofa and two padded stools arranged on either side of a small black table opposite the door. Warren sat on one of the stools, watching Rahne with an air of slight unease. His right hand rested on the leather cover of a book that lay face-down on the table and his left fist supported his chin, resting on his knee as he gazed at her.

Rahne shifted uncomfortably as the silence became palpable between them. She fell to inspecting him more closely, noticing that his hands were shaking slightly. His great wings were tucked neatly behind him and they twitched from time to time as if yearning to be stretched. He was dressed in a pair of smart black slacks and a pale blue shirt, the kind of pale blue that made his eyes gleam under his brows. Rahne tried not to pay too much attention to this observation. They were cold and hard as granite and she started to feel restless and panicky. It was an irrational panic, she knew, but it nevertheless made her quake slightly. The wolf stirred within her, though weaker than it usually was. All the same, she grimly forced it away and clamped her will down around it like a cage.

'Hello,' she said lamely, suddenly desperate to break the silence. This seemed to deplete the tension slightly, Warren moved his hand away from his mouth and his eyes melted just a fraction.

'Hello,' he said quietly. She heard his heart pounding in his chest and relaxed a bit. He was just as apprehensive as her and this was comforting. 'Would you like to take a seat, Rahne?'

She dithered or a moment before settling for a perch on the leather sofa in the shade, he watched her the whole time and when he was satisfied that she was settled he stood and went to the desk, picking up a blue file that had been lying on it. He leaned against the desk and looked up at her. Rahne tried to smile and failed.

Why him? Why had he been chosen as her case worker? She was mortified. She thought about apologizing to him and decided that perhaps he wouldn't accept it any kind of apology from her. She twitched and lowered her eyes, staring instead at the simple pattern on the carpet. She studied each and every fibre, trying to think of something to say. She wasn't what most people would call chatty; indeed she often found it wiser to keep her mouth shut. At this moment, she would've given anything to be good with words. Warren made her extremely uncomfortable and anxious. Not a good combination for someone with self control issues.

'Professor Xavier has asked me to begin by recording a complete psychological profile for you, if that's alright?' His voice was quiet, she heard him swallow as if trying to clear his throat. He was also very direct. Rahne liked this much better than the others, who had all tried to be her friend without explaining anything. They hadn't asked her if anything was alright with her either. Like she had no choice but to heal, to put away her demons for everyone else's sake.

She took a breath and looked up at him. He was stretching his wing as he waited for her reply. It was so beautiful. She saw every individual feather fanning out from his shoulder, from the tiny, fluffy ones to the ones at the very tip which were longer than her forearm. They were snow-white and unblemished, it dazzled her sensitive eyes to look at them. He looked like an angel.

For the first time that day, she felt her lips part into a genuine if somewhat stilted smile.


	8. The Sound of Silence

Chapter 8 – The Sound of Silence

Warren was stuck. There was no better word for it. Stuck.

They had been in his office for about an hour now and all he had managed to coax from his subject was a tentative smile and a brusque acknowledgement of the list of facts from her case file. He was dangerously close to exasperation as he regarded her sullen green eyes as they continued to study the pattern on the carpet. This was turning out to be more difficult than he thought. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to pacify a threatening headache.

The awkward tension in the room had only eased slightly when they had made their quiet truce but now the silence was almost oppressive. Warren searched his mind for some way to reach out to her but came up empty again and again. He was getting nowhere and he knew it with certainty. He glanced longingly out of the window, his wings ached to be stretched and used. His resolve fought bitterly with his yearning as he returned his gaze to the young woman before him.

He was surprised to see her suddenly staring at him intently, her head cocked to the side as she considered him. He sensed no aggression or malevolence in her stare. She simply seemed to be studying him curiously. He flinched at the sound of her voice when it finally came.

'You shot me with a tranquiliser.'

Her eyes narrowed slightly. The statement hung between them for a few seconds.

'I'm sorry,' he replied, simply. She nodded and the exchange was over. Warren tried hard not to sigh out loud. The truth was that he did feel bad about the circumstances in which they had first met. It troubled him, sending tiny waves of guilt through his heart. It had been a devious plan. He still remembered the look of betrayal that had been in her eyes when she had looked up and saw the end of her freedom. He stood and moved over to the window staring out at the lake. In the silence, his mind wandered. The memory of his last flight took him away into a daydream. He had soared high above the tree line then swooped down along the surface of the lake – his heart flying within his chest. He could never put into words that ecstatic feeling, that boundless freedom that caused his soul to sing.

He was reclaiming his small victories all the time but when he flew, he felt joy. Pure and simple joy.

'How do you feel about being here?' He hardly remembered speaking as he continued to gaze outside.

'I feel trapped,' she said quietly though he heard the surprise in her voice. He turned to face her once more. She wasn't looking at him anymore; she was almost looking through him to the mountains that hemmed in the lake with such a keen yearning that Warren could practically sense it in the air. He wanted to tell her that he understood. That for years he had been trapped too, trapped in his father's dismay, trapped in his own self-loathing. He felt an impulsive urge to tell her about the years wasted, wishing that he had never been born to disgrace his father.

He stepped back in time for a moment and became that hurt, little boy again. With some difficulty, he wrenched himself back to the present.

_That time is over now. It's not real anymore. Like pictures in a book. _

He knew that, even though this personal mantra did much to soothe the scars, some hurts went too deep to just disappear.

_One day, _he thought, _one day, they will be gone. _

_Where do you wear your scars, Rahne Sinclair?_

She looked so uncomfortable, sitting there and somehow vulnerable, almost shrunken against the backdrop of his office. The dark circles under her eyes spoke of her sleepless nights since arriving at the academy. Perhaps it would've been wiser to delay her case until she had adjusted to the Academy. There was no fear in her eyes, just guarded wariness. It must be exhausting to be so on-edge all the time. With mild surprise, he found that he wanted to know why.

Finally, he glanced at his watch and laid Rahne's file down on his desk.

Rahne twitched slightly at his movement, her eyes suddenly on him. For a second, one single second, there was nothing human about Rahne Sinclair. There was a chilling, calculating look in those green eyes that almost stopped his blood. Then, that awful look was gone. A human being looked out of those eyes once more. But he had seem a glimpse of the animal.

'That's enough for today, I think' he said, managing to keep the slight tremor out of his voice. He crossed the room to wear she sat, trying to ignore the way her eyes followed him as if expecting an attack. She stood as he gestured to the door. She had an animal grace in the way she moved that unnerved him. Together they went to the door and both reached for the handle, their hands brushing for a second. Her skin was hot. Hotter than he'd ever expected it to be. Not just w

arm, he felt the heat radiate from her outstretched palm even as he apologised and drew away. He had noticed the warmth of her skin before on the ship but had thought it was a result of fever from the sedative. Now he realised that her temperature was constantly high.

Another mystery concerning Rahne Sinclair, they were really starting to mount in his mind.

She paused, as if she was weighing up something within her mind then looked up at him.

'I'm sorry,' she cleared her throat. 'I'm not very good at talking about myself. And thank you for trying to be nice about it.'

He tried not to smile and failed but was rewarded by another lopsided smile from his companion.

'We'll try again tomorrow.'

'Alright.'


	9. It's All Coming Back To Me Now

Chapter 9 – It's All Coming Back To Me Now

'No tests,' she snarled, hating the feral growl in her own voice. 'No tests, no scans, no physicals. No nothing!'

The wolf was closer now as she pressed herself down against the wall, desperately clinging to her sanity. She felt the snapping, howling beast inside her head with a mixture of despair and craving. She felt her eyes shifting, until she knew that they were the burning yellow of the wolf's. Carefully, she kept her eyes down, hoping to keep her companion from noticing the struggle that was happening before her very eyes. Again, her mouth itched and burned and tingled as she fought to keep her temper.

It had begun when she had returned from her session with the angel.

The white-haired woman has escorted her back through the hallways and she could not help but notice that her trips to and from the office had been timed just so that the other attending the Academy would not see her. She had to smile at that. At least they were taking precautions.

Her meeting with Warren had been…confusing. There had been little she had felt like saying and the little she did say made her feel stupid. She cursed herself as she remembered her goofy attempts to smile at him. It had been so long since she had wanted to smile, she felt sure that it must've looked false. He was frustrated, she could see that, and she knew it was her fault. She saw it in the way his eyes peered into her face as if he was trying to read her mind. With a start, she wondered if he could. She realised that she knew nothing about his mutation other than those beautiful wings. For all she knew, he could read minds and breathe fire.

_Unlikely. _

He was no longer the cold, angry man that she'd insulted on the ship but she could plainly see that he was trying not to get irritated with her as the session wore on. Then he looked out of the window and everything changed. She had seen his reflection on the glass as clearly as if she had been face to face with him. She had seen that naked, burning longing in his eyes as he gazed towards the sky. She had seen the sadness and the pain which slowly gave way to pure joy. Then he had asked her how she liked being in a cage.

Resolved as she was to keeping herself to herself, she could not keep the unhappiness out of her voice when she answered him. Something in her told her that he would know what she meant, inexplicable as it was. For a few moments, she had been transfixed by the scene outside the window. Forgetting where she was for an instant, she gazed out at the silvery, undulating surface of the lake and the deep dark green of the trees.

_I want to be gone._

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't really register where they were going until they stood outside a familiar steel door. The scent of bleach and chemicals made Rahne's nose wrinkle in distaste. It was a sour, frightening smell that made her skin crawl. She looked askance at the white haired woman who looked back in mild confusion.

'It's time for your physical, Rahne,' she said, frowning at Rahne's obvious revulsion to that door. She gestured towards the door and swiped her key on the pad. Rahne's stomach plummeted into her shoes as the wave of smells threatened to overwhelm her. She backed away until she was right against the wall. The white-haired woman took a tentative step towards her, concern in her eyes.

Rahne shook her head. The memories were coming now and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She saw the wave rearing up and knew that it was only a matter of time until she was buried.

_Abomination, you will answer for your sins. _

The priest.

_Let's see what makes her tick, shall we?_

The doctor.

_It'll only hurt for a moment, and then you'll sleep. _

The soldier.

The door disappeared and was replaced with a bright light. A light that threatened to burn her retinas right out of her head. She tried to turn her head but it was held in place by a strap across her forehead. She tried to scream but her mouth refused to obey her brain's frantic commands. There was only darkness and the light that burned.

Someone was tugging on her arm now and she snapped into the present, aware that she was on the ground now. She had collapsed into an undignified heap against the polished wood of the wall and the white-haired woman held her arm gently.

She cursed herself for showing her weakness. In the many times she had been to the Academy, she had never stuck around long enough for her physical. She hadn't counted on it evoking all the things she had tried to keep buried for so many years.

The memories fed the wolf, made it a ferocious opponent. Already she was fighting to keep control but she wasn't sure she could this time. Anger, deep and red, burned in her chest as a growl escaped. The pain in her head was extraordinary as she fought the transformation.

As if from a great distance, she heard a door opening and footsteps approaching.

'Rahne, are you alright?'

She looked up into the pale eyes of the angel. The wolf's growl quietened a little as he bent down and took her other arm, saying nothing about the yellow, predator's eyes she knew she now had. Together, the angel and the white-haired woman helped her to her feet. Her legs felt as if they were made of water and she had no choice but to accept their help.

'No doctors,' she heard herself say. She was exhausted and couldn't understand why. She felt her head loll drunkenly as unconsciousness threatened to take her. The wolf had retreated for now and relief made her giddy. She felt her knees buckle once more and braced herself to hit the carpet when the world swung about and she was looking at pale skin and blonde hair. Two arms held her against a strong body, her head nestled against a strong shoulder.

She looked up to find that the angel was carrying her.

'I've got you,' he said quietly in her ear before she passed out in his arms.


	10. Walkin' After Midnight

Chapter 10

Her hands held the sheets that covered her in a death grip, her face still troubled even in sleep.

Warren closed the door to Rahne's room and turned to lean against it, relieved that she was finally sleeping. He could not quite lose the sensation of her hands gripping his shirt as he carried her. The movement of her eyes beneath their lids as they frantically sought her invisible opponent. He couldn't forget the tiny whimpers she uttered.

He saw again the naked fear in her eyes as she crouched against the wall, saying the same things over and over again and cursed out loud. He knew that fear, had seen it in his own eyes one too many times.

At least now he could say something that he knew for sure about Rahne Sinclair. Someone had done terrible things to her at some point in her life and knowing this filled him with an unutterable fury that he didn't quite understand.

He sighed and moved away from the door, wandering down the corridors in the vague direction of his own quarters. She filled his mind with questions and his anger grew as he wondered about the life of Rahne Sinclair. No-one becomes that closed off and distant without good reason. His thoughts returned to the articles included in her case file, mentally searching them for some clue about what had happened to her. There was so little to go on, he found himself at a complete loss.

Opening the door to his office, he caught sight of his own furrowed brow in the mirror that hung beside his bookshelves and sighed. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed. It would not do to get himself wound up like this. He couldn't help anyone if he was so stressed out that he couldn't think. He crossed to the desk, out of sight of the mirror, and pulled Rahne's file from its place in the pile of paperwork. Rubbing his forehead, he sat down on the floor and began to lay out the pieces of her life, such as they were.

It was like this girl was a shadow for the main part of her life. He read Moira's report on her adoption of the young Rahne over and over, hoping that something would click and the story would begin to form but all he could see was the compassion of a caring soul trying to help a frightened, angry child.

Nothing.

Nothing revealed itself and his frustration grew. He was frustrated with the report, with Rahne Sinclair for being difficult, with Moira for being deliberately vague, with himself for feeling so powerless.

He read until his eyes burned and his neck ached and the red numbers on his digital clock told him that it was nearly 1 o'clock in the morning. Leaving the paperwork where it lay, he stood and stretched his wings. Was it too late to go flying? Of course not, he thought with a smile.

He swiped his access key over the pad that opened a side door in one of the annexes of the school and took a deep breath of cool, sweet air. There was just the barest hint of a chill in the air, enough to turn his skin to goosebumps as he strode outside. It was so quiet, so still, this was his favourite time – when it seemed like the whole world was his own as the rest slept beneath.

He removed his shoes, savouring the pleasant feeling of springy grass on his skin and strode forward, following a natural path that cut through the fringe of tall, fragrant conifers and eventually led down to the sandy lake shore. There was no sound other that the night creatures and the gentle lapping of the water. Warren felt peace settle over his shoulders, the kind of peace he only sought when the moon was up and he was alone with the night. He pushed his thoughts about Rahne to the back of his mind.

After a few moments, he emerged on the edge of the lake, exchanging the dewy grass for the soft, yielding sand of the shore. He stopped and simply looked, taking everything in. The sky was clear and the lake surface was still and for a few moments, the beauty of the reflected universe of stars took his breath away.

His wings twitched impatiently in anticipation as he slowed his breathing, finding his focus and centring himself. Everything melted away until all that was left was the perfect calm he felt before the exhilaration of flight. He began to walk along the shore, faster and faster until he broke into a dead sprint. With one final leap, he extended his wings and instead of falling back to earth, he began to climb in a hazy diagonal into the deep blue of the sky. The chill air rushed into his lungs as he rose high above the tops of the gently swaying trees. He hovered for a long moment, gazing over the shadowy landscape that swept out in all directions around him. It was breathlessly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that had no words. Everything became so simple and uncomplicated when he looked at it like this.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and felt the wind caress his wings, creating small flurries along the edges of the feathers. Then he smiled.

He brought his wings smartly in against his back and fell, plunging down towards the sprawling silver mirror of the lake. His heart beat frantically in his chest as the world rushed up to meet him. At the very last possible moment, he flung his wings open and skimmed along the lake surface, throwing up sheets of spray in his wake.

_Be my angel…_

The memory came so suddenly and clearly that he jerked in surprise, unable to anticipate the change in the wind, and dropped like a stone into the cold water of the lake. Suffocating darkness surrounded him before his head broke the surface and he gasped for air as the cold water compressed his chest.

That voice. He knew that voice. It was on the very edge of his memory but he had remembered it so clearly it was as if someone had whispered it into his ear at that very moment.

He looked around, wondering if perhaps someone had, but the shore was still and empty. The only sound has his own splashing as he began to make his way to shore.


	11. Who'll Stop The Rain?

Chapter 11

_Run._

_Be swift._

_Be the wind. _

_Never let the shadows catch you. Let your feet become your wings. Head for that horizon and never stop, never breathe, until you reach it. Only then are you safe. Only then will the shadows draw away and leave you in peace. _

_You don't belong here and you never will. You are not safe here. And whilst you are here, they are not safe from you._

_Don't forget what you are. _

_Be the wind._

_Be swift._

_Run._

Rahne was awake and on her feet in one swift movement, every nerve and sense stretched to breaking point searching for danger. Her body felt like a weapon, taut with the promise of violence, in complete harmony with itself.

Once she was satisfied that the room was empty, she allowed herself to relax a fraction and let out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding. Tingles ran up and down her spine but she felt her muscles ease, no longer on the point of transformation. What had woken her? She didn't even remember going to sleep. All she remembered was the bright, bright light and then…nothing. She had been with Warren and then there was the light, obliterating everything. Gazing around the room, she saw nothing out of place – no clue as to what had occurred in the great blank space in her memory.

With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed, uncomfortable in the same clothes she had been wearing the day before. Another blank slate to add to her collection, she thought wryly, bending down to peel off her socks. Some thoughtful person had removed her shoes. How nice.

Loathe as she was to admit it, she was feeling better. Not exactly happy to wake to find herself still in this place but less exhausted. Sleep had erased the strained feeling that had manifested itself behind her eyes over the last few days. She stared at herself in the mirror for a few moments, seeing a wild-looking but alert young woman staring back. Her hair hung in knotted clumps over her shoulders and her face was far too pale but she was present, no longer something resembling the undead. She smelled her own unwashed body, the greasy scent of her unwashed hair and grimaced. This would not do. If she was going to submit to life at the Academy, however short she planned to make her stay, she was going to do it with as much dignity as she could muster.

She wouldn't become a science experiment. That would make it far too easy for them.

There would be plenty of time to be disgusting once she escaped, she thought with a laugh.

She flicked on the desk lamp beside her bed; the thick blinds on her windows were really working. She peeled off the rest of her dirty clothes, careful to drape a big bath towel around herself in the process in deference to the maddening whir of the security camera. She combed her fingers through her matted hair as best she could and padded into the clean, white bathroom. The clinical scent of bleach and disinfectant was not altogether unpleasant. Under it, she could detect the tiniest hint of old shampoos, lotions and potions from previous occupants of this room. She stood in the scalding shower until she felt whole and clean again, shampooing and working through the tangles in her hair until it no longer resembled a hedge. Then, she just stood and let the water fall upon her face, trying to imagine that she was back in her tree and the water was a good, strong rainstorm.

She felt a pang in her heart as she thought of what she had come to think of as home. She had never felt homesick before, never really had a home to miss before Moira. Sure, there were times when she had run away for months on end – for no other good reason other than to feel the freedom she craved and to selfishly indulge the wildness of the wolf within her – when she had felt a stab of regret at leaving that life behind but now, after so many years, she saw it for what it was; her first real home.

_Unless you counted the cage._

She pulled her mind away from that particularly unpleasant memory, suddenly unwilling to revisit the past. She locked it away in the special part of her mind that was kept behind a carefully blank shroud, where she could always feel the bad things pushing to be free but where they were kept strictly in check. That was a dangerous path to walk.

She turned off the water and cleaned her teeth; shivering in the thin robe she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It was surprisingly good to feel clean again; usually anything above basic hygiene wasn't really high on her list of priorities. She was never happier than when she was filthy from head to toe having spent a day racing through the forests and hills near her home, giving in to the wildness within her soul and the exhilaration of embracing her whole self.

Often, especially when she spent long periods of time in the company of humans, she felt split in two. As if she could never really be complete. But those days in the trees and hills were the closest to wholeness she had ever felt. It was true that she cared about Moira's kin – in a quiet and fierce way that she could not quite call love – but they never saw the other half of her.

People saw one…or the other. Never both.

She sighed, letting herself feel the weight of that sadness for the briefest of moments, before turning her concentration onto pulling her unruly, heavy mass of wet hair into a slapdash bun. With quick, light touches she managed to pin it up and returned to her bedroom, rummaging in the closet for something to wear. Amongst the Academy-issued uniforms and training kits, she found some impossibly white underwear and socks which were obviously brand new and a comfortable-looking pair of grey linen trousers with a hooded jumper to match. She pulled on the new clothes, trying to ignore the scents of starch and detergent that stung her nose, and was just pulling on her old, battered boots when there was a tap at her door.

Soap and bare skin.

Warren.

She froze on instinct, reaching out with her acute senses to, testing the air for danger. Then, slowly, she crossed to the door, heard the scan of his key authorising its unlocking and opened it a crack to find her looking down at her calmly.

'Good morning, Rahne,' he said, politely ignoring the fact the she was peering out at him as if he were a murderer. She tried a smile, it had worked so well yesterday, but her mood had been somewhat dampened by her previous thoughts so that all that came was the briefest flinch of the corners of her mouth.

'Warren.' She said by way of greeting, trying not to sound gruff and irritable. She opened the door a few centimetres more and tried the smile again, this time gaining a bit more success which earned a brief smile in return.

'I hope you're feeling better, it's time for our appointment.'

She suppressed a groan and nodded, finally making herself open the door fully to Warren who stood a little way back from the doorway in smart black trousers and a crisp, white shirt. As always, her eyes were drawn to his beautiful wings, tucked comfortably against his back.

'I thought you might like to take a walk.'


End file.
